


Reconciliation

by ashgemini



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashgemini/pseuds/ashgemini
Summary: After years of silence, Brendon and Ryan get coffee





	Reconciliation

            It’s a warm spring day in LA, which Brendon takes a moment to reflect on the redundancy of. It’s always warm in LA, maybe not as warm as Vegas, but still. Brendon then has to take a moment to reflect on the fact that he’s thinking about the weather. He’s either boring or nervous and right now Brendon thinks he’d prefer to be boring.

            He glances at his phone screen and then at the coffee shop in front of him; this is where he’s supposed to be. The bell above the door jangles in a way that Brendon supposes could be cheery, but now it grates on his nerves. It’s quiet inside, as coffee shops always are during late afternoon. Brendon orders an iced coffee from a bored looking girl behind the counter. He’s sort of glad the emo phase has largely died out, Brendon never liked being recognized.

            He leans against the counter and tries to find something on his phone to hold his attention, but mostly he just closes and opens twitter until the girl behind the counter shoves an iced coffee into his hands. The plastic cup sweats under his fingers as Brendon makes his way to a table against the far wall. And then Brendon waits, killing time by taking sips of his coffee (which tastes watery) and cycling through social media accounts. Brendon is starting to wonder if he should even be here, maybe asking about meeting for coffee was a horrible idea. Finally, the bell above the door jangles again.

            If Brendon didn’t know who he was supposed to be meeting, he wouldn’t even recognize him. Ryan’s hair is shorter now, but softer than it ever looked before, strands curling around his ears. His wrists are ringed with tattoos, and Brendon’s treacherous mind wonders if there are others that are out of sight. Ryan’s shirt is emblazoned with the name of a band that Brendon doesn’t think he’s ever heard of, which is sort of impressive. Brendon isn’t sure if Ryan is pointedly avoiding his gaze or if he hasn’t seen Brendon yet.

           While Ryan orders, Brendon tries to slow his breathing and still his fingers, with only moderate success. Finally, they’re both sitting across from each other at the slightly rickety table. Ryan isn’t avoiding Brendon’s gaze now, he’s staring at him with the same intensity he always has. “So, uh, hey,” Ryan says, taking a drink. The waxed paper cup in his hand smells a like chai, Brendon notes.

          “Hey,” says Brendon, and it comes out slightly hysterical.

          “What’s up?” says Ryan and it’s been years since he’s heard Ryan’s voice. What do you say to someone who was such a big part of your life for so long?

          “I guess I just wanted to see you again,” Brendon says, staring at his coffee. The ice is slowly melting, turning the watery coffee into an even waterier coffee.

          “You wanted to see me?” says Ryan dryly. “What the hell, Brendon,” he adds, in a slightly nicer tone of voice. “It’s been, what, 5 years since we’ve seen each other?”

          Brendon wants to make some overly emotional, heartfelt declaration, but what comes out is, “5 years? Are you sure?”

          Ryan cocks his head slightly, and oh god Brendon had forgotten Ryan used to do that, “I’m sure.”

          “I guess I just wanted to see you,” says Brendon, looking at his coffee instead of at Ryan.

          “Why?” says Ryan. It’s not argumentative, it’s like he genuinely can’t fathom why Brendon would want to see him.

          Brendon remembers being 8 years old and going to the swimming pool down the street with his sister. He wanted to jump off the diving board, but when he climbed up the rickety ladder and looked down at the crystalline water, he froze. This felt like that. Like staring into open space, deciding if you were going to fall. “I missed you,” Brendon says, and feels like he’s plummeting through space.

          “You missed me?” says Ryan, and Brendon kind of wants to punch him for being so calm. Or he wants to see if Ryan’s mouth tastes like chai and if he still does that thing where he grazes his teeth across Brendon’s lower lip. Brendon stomps on these feelings quickly.

          “What do you want me to say, Ryan? You were my best friend for a long time, so yeah, I missed you. And maybe I’m 5 years or even 10 years too late, but I wanted to say it,” Brendon says.

           “I missed you too,” says Ryan. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”

           “I didn’t think so either,” says Brendon, “But it’s been almost 10 years since you and Jon left, I guess it’s been on my mind,” Brendon’s voice lilts up at the end, as if he’s asking a question.

           “Is it true that you don’t play Northern Downpour anymore?” says Ryan suddenly.

           “What?” says Brendon, fighting back a hysterical giggle.

           “Some girl on twitter said you don’t play it anymore because you start crying, is that true?” Ryan says.

           “Yeah,” says Brendon, running a hand through his hair, “It’s true. There are videos of it on youtube and everything.”

           “Shame,” says Ryan, “You always sounded so good singing that song.”

           “It _was_ a good song,” says Brendon regretfully.

           Ryan takes another sip of his chai and gives Brendon an unreadable expression. “Have you talked to Spencer recently?”

           “We texted awhile back,” says Brendon, wondering where this is going, “You?”

           Ryan nods, “Yeah I saw him last time I was in Vegas. He’s doing well, he’s clean now. He seems more like himself than he has in ages,” and Brendon wonders if that’s a subtle shot at him. Ryan always had such a talent for finding Brendon’s weak spots and really pushing at them.

           “I’m glad,” Brendon says, watching Ryan run a hand through his hair. Brendon wants to thread his fingers through Ryan’s hair and tug on it, see if it still makes Ryan gasp. Again, he stomps on that impulse.

           “I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” says Brendon, and that diving board feeling is back. Ryan quirks an eyebrow and Brendon takes that as a cue to keep talking. “Panic belonged to all of us, and I’m sorry for how it ended. For how we ended.”

           “It’s okay,” says Ryan levelly. “It wasn’t okay for a long time, but it is now. I still appreciate you saying it though.”

           “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it,” says Brendon. He wants to say more, but what is there to say now? The last decade spans between them, so much life that they both live contained in the space between Ryan’s chai and Brendon’s coffee.

           “You said it now, though. That has to count for something,” Ryan says seriously. “How’s Sarah?”

           Brendon frowns, “She’s fine,” is this Ryan searching for a weak spot again?

           “Relax, B,” says Ryan and the old nickname hurts more than Brendon thought it would, “I really am just asking. I’m glad it worked out for you guys.”

           “Are you?” Brendon asks before he can remind himself to bite his tongue.

           “Yeah,” says Ryan easily, “Not like we would’ve worked out.”

           “Why not?”

           “Too volatile, too emotional, too stupid. We were just kids,” says Ryan and Brendon spares a moment to think about how quickly he answered. This is clearly something he’s put a lot of thought into. “Also, you were pretty attached to your heterosexuality.”

           Brendon furrows his brow. He wants to disagree, to point out that he wrote a song that people have been calling a “bisexual anthem”, but Ryan isn’t wrong. In 2007 Brendon had been very insistent that he didn’t swing both ways. “You’re right,” Brendon finally says.

            “I’m always right,” Ryan says instantly. They must’ve had this exact same exchange a million times over the years. It feels good to have it again. They lapse into silence, but this time it feels comfortable, almost easy. And this feels, to Brendon at least, like a hundred other moments in his life. Sitting in a studio together, in a van, in a tour bus, backstage, in a shitty diner somewhere off of the interstate, or in a hotel room.

            “Oh shit,” says Ryan, glancing at the time on his phone. “I’ve got to go,” Ryan gets up and pushes his chair in and starts to leave, but then turns back to Brendon, “We should do this again,” says Ryan and Brendon’s heart leaps in his chest.

            “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, and Ryan gives Brendon a warm smile and walks out of the coffee shop.

            Brendon stays at the table for a little bit longer, finishing the last dregs of his coffee. If he’s being honest with himself, this isn’t how he thought this would end, although he isn’t sure what he thought would happen. He and Ryan have never had the most normal relationship ever, so maybe it’s only natural that seeing Ryan again wouldn’t go ask he expected. There’s only so much soul searching you can do in a coffee shop though, so Brendon disposes of his now-empty cup and pushes the door open. This time, the chime of the bell doesn’t sound nearly so grating.


End file.
